


The Woodcutter and the Scholar

by LuxaLucifer



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Slash, it's probably nasty tbh, m/m - Freeform, my first pornfic, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woodcutter is a simple man with simple pleasure, and his biggest is coming home to his the love of his life, a scholar with ink-stained fingers...Elrond/Gil-galad, roleplaying</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woodcutter and the Scholar

It was dark by the time the woodcutter came home. The scholar had used the last of his wax, and the candle was in its dying throes when the door swung open. The scholar lifted squinted eyes from his book to stare at the large figure in the door. A shy smile under dark hair was visible as he slowly stood.

"Welcome home, love," he said quietly as the hulking figure entered the small cabin, dumping a bundle of firewood at his feet.

"Let me light the fire," was the woodcutter's only reply. "You must be getting cold."

"I hadn't noticed," admitted the scholar, waving his hand dismissively. "I was-"

"I know," said the woodcutter. "Reading."

The scholar watched as the woodcutter set the fire ablaze with practiced ease, the walls of the cabin soon glowing. The woodcutter raised his gaze from the logs and met the scholar's eyes.

"Warm?" he said.

The scholar smiled. "Yes."

"Warm enough for this?" And before the scholar knew what was happening, the woodcutter had crossed the cabin in a few long strides and pressed their lips together, one large hand gripping the scholar's waist.

The scholar tore away from the kiss long enough to say, "Yes, warm enough for this."

It was all the permission the woodcutter needed. He gripped the other man by the bottom and lifted him upwards, the scholar wrapping his legs around his hips and grinding his hips against the woodcutter's.

"Not yet," grunted the woodcutter.

Without waiting for a reply, he carried the scholar to the bed in the corner, tossing him onto the pile of furs as though he were a ragdoll. He stood over the smaller man, arms crossed, the beginnings of a predatory smile on his face.

"I know you're tired," said the scholar, his own smile twisting his lips. "Do you really think you're up for this?"

The woodcutter's eyes widened, and he gaped for a moment before recovering himself. "Are you saying...you don't think I can-"

The scholar raised his eyebrows. "Prove it."

"Oh, I'll prove it," growled the woodcutter, fingers fumbling as he struggled to remove his worn shirt. It was cold outside, but he had been working hard, and a thin sheen of sweat still covered his skin as he dumped his shirt aside.

"Now for you," he said, taking the scholar's mouth with a rough kiss. "Off with those robes."

"Don't rip them," warned the scholar, seemingly oblivious to the hunger in the other's eyes. "They're good wool, I don't want to have to beg to get them mended again."

"Would you beg for me?" asked the woodcutter, eyes dark as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself so that he was over the scholar, one hand on either side of his shoulders.

"You're not going to mend my robes, are you?"

The woodcutter snorted and reached over to undo the other Elf's robes. It went faster now, only a short time passing before the woodcutter had them open, pulling them down the scholar's shoulders to expose his bare chest. He undid his belt swiftly and pushed the rest of his clothes aside so that the scholar's white skin was all laid bare, shivering slightly in the chill. If you looked close, there were scars crisscrossing the pale skin, scars that didn't belong on a simple scholar. On his left arm was a battle scar so large and thick, inlaid with bits of armor, that it seemed impossible to ignore, and yet ignore it the woodcutter did.

And, of course, the patch of dark hair around his cock, trailing up to his navel. The woodcutter trailed a finger through it, making the scholar shiver. The woodcutter decided then that he would leave his own trousers on, wondering what it would feel like to be fucked with that fabric against him. Maybe later.

The woodcutter seemed pleased with his lover's appearance, bending down sightly to kiss him before drawing away, eyes dark with lust.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said. "Got it?"

"Oh, yes," said the scholar, stifling a grin as he laid there naked. "I've got that."

The woodcutter hesitated. "Now I want you to..."

The scholar waited.

"Um," said the woodcutter. "You should give me a blowjob. So get up."

"Or," said the scholar so tantalizingly that it was easy to miss him roll his eyes ever so slightly. "You could fuck my mouth."

"Are you sure?"

It was not easy to miss the roll of the scholar's eyes this time.

The woodcutter cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm going to fuck your mouth, and you're going to like it!"

The scholar placed his pale arms around the woodcutter's thick neck. "Do it," he whispered.

The woodcutter didn't need any more motivation, crawling up the pile of furs until his groin was positioned directly over the scholar's mouth. The woodcutter noticed, not for the first time, that his lover had perfect lips. He swallowed and drew his cock out from his pants, holding it, slowly pushing it in his lover's mouth, watching those soft lips stretch and stretch to take him all in. His lover had no control over the pace or intesity, but was still duly taking him in. The thought was...overwhelming.

The scholar's black hair fanned around his head as eyes framed by thick black eyelashes stared up at him, glazed with lust. The woodcutter pulled himself back up and then thrust downwards, deep into the scholar's throat. He gagged for a moment, but regained his composure quickly and sucked, so hard the woodcutter almost lost his balance. The fiction of his cock in that warm heat combined with the feel of his rough trousers on his sensitive skin made his gasp.

He gripped the scholar's head, running his fingers through his hair as he thrust, hips snapping. He was already close. He let out a long broken groan that ended in agony as his scholar deftly reached over and wrapped his small hands around his tender balls, stopping his release.

He withdrew from his lover's mouth, watching him lick his swollen, red lips, saliva dripping down his chin. Then he smiled and said, "You're not going to come until you're inside me."

The woodcutter began to wonder who was really in charge here.

The scholar grasped his shoulders and pushed him down onto the furs with surprising force, his lean body trembling with effort. He grasped his large hand in his, guiding it, not to his cock, which was hard and weeping although it hadn't been touched, but to the area behind it, letting hard fingers touch the most private part of him.

"Where is it?" he said, barking the order even as he lay under his lover. "Get the oil, then prepare yourself. I want to watch you."

The scholar's pale skin flushed at this, and he lost some of his bravado as he slid off the woodcutter and began fumbling through the shelves, finally returning to to the larger man on the furs with his hand wrapped around a small bottle.

"Do it," he said. "Put the oil on your hand and prepare yourself. But don't make a sound. One sound, and I won't touch you, I'll make you put your clothes back on and deny you release until after tomorrow's work is done. Got it?"

The scholar didn't say a word, just nodded, his throat bobbing as he visibly swallowed. He uncapped the bottle and poured it onto his fingers, scooting so that he was sitting over the woodcutter, legs spread. He set the bottle down and kept his fingers steady as he slid one finger into his own hole, expression tightening as he struggled not to make a sound. The woodcutter regined in his control as he watched the scholar finger himself, adding another finger with nothing more than a sharp intake of breath. The woodcutter let himself stare at the place where his lover's fingers disappeared inside himself.

"Add more lube," he ordered.

The flush across the scholar's face became more prominent as he fumbled for the bottle, clumsily opening it with one hand as he continued to probe himself. When he poured it onto his hand it spilled and dripped onto the furs, the scholar's lips pressing together tightly.

"Add a third finger," said the woodcutter. "On the other hand."

His lover obeyed without question, stretching himself with the first finger on his right hand now, balancing himself on his knees as both his hands concentrated between his legs.

"Do you think you're stretched enough?"

The scholar didn't reply, biting his lip.

"Do you?" he said sharply, pulling him forward with one hand while using the other to keep the scholar's fingers in himself. He kissed the scholar roughly, making him squirm as his own fingers stimulated his tight channel.

"Y-Yes?"

"It wasn't a question."

"Yes," the scholar breathed. "Yes, yes, I'm loose enough, please."

The woodcutter pulled the scholar's fingers out of himself and placed a hand on either side of his shoulder, wrapping one hand around his own cock and holding it steady against the scholar's entrance.

"Push down," he said. "In one stroke. Keep going no matter what."

The scholar's eyes widened. This was so different than the way they normally went about it, the way they made love when they weren't the woodcutter and the scholar, when they were-

He nodded, swallowing hard, and sank down onto the woodcutter. He hissed in pain, his still-slick fingers scrabbling for purchase in the furs as he pushed himself down.

When he'd seated himself so deep he could feel the woodcutter's balls against his skin he leaned forward for a kiss, feeling impossibly stretched and full as the fabric of the woodcutter's trousers rubbed at him.

"Move," ordered the woodcutter, his voice strained as his cock was enveloped by tight heat.

The scholar's dark hair fluttered against his chest as he pulled back up, slamming back down with a complete lack of finesse. He let out a long ragged breath and did it again, his fingers gripping the woodcutter's shoulders so hard they would bruise. The woodcutter let him do all the work, touching the spot where they joined, where the scholar was taking him deep, with only the barest touch of his fingertips. The scholar shuddered and tightened on top of him, making the woodcutter buck despite himself.

The scholar bent forward so he could say, voice hoarse, "I love you."

"You too," said the woodcutter, sweating beading on his brow.

"I love you," said the scholar. "But if you cut trees down the way you're fucking me, then you're a very poor woodcutter indeed."

There was a challenge in those silver eyes, so much so that the woodcutter gripped those narrow hips and held them tightly as he switched positions, the woodcutter sprawled under him again.

"You're going to regret that," he growled, making himself sound far more menacing than he felt.

The scholar let out a little sigh before their mouths met, the woodcutter biting at his lip before plunging his tongue into is mouth, their jaws scraping at each other in their haste. When they parted the scholar's lips were kiss-swollen again, their rich red a high contrast with the porcelain of his skin.

He would normally have grinned at his scholar, but not not, not when he was the woodcutter. Instead he gripped his lover's legs and wrapped them around his waist before gripping his lover's waists and slamming in. The noise the scholar made was a low keen, but the woodcutter doubted it even neared the explosion of pleasure he felt when he did it.

He let himself go in his thrusts, keeping a fast pace as he thrust harder and harder into his lover, feeling his passage tighten around him whenever he hit that spot deep inside. He pinned the scholar's hands to the side with his own hands, lacing their fingers together so he couldn't attend to himself. His lover's cock bobbed in the air, rock hard and leaking from the tip.

The woodcutter could feel the friction, the burn in the air as oil rubbed against two sets of skin, the slick sensation of filling someone entirely. The scholar could feel it took as he was pounded into relentlessly, his prostate slammed over and over, the stimulation almost too much as he back pressed into blankets and his arms were pinned. eventually the only thing he could focus on was his cock, right in front of him but unable to touch, so far when he was so close.

The woodcutter's muscles were straining with the effort it took to keep his pace, but he managed right until he could feel the buildup, the sensation that mean he was coming. He didn't stop thrusting or pull out, burying himself into his scholar one last time, holding himself deep as he came in thick, hot spurts. He liked to imagine that his come would coat those walls, staying there as a reminder for days to come.

The last trust touched the scholar's prostate once more, and the stimulation pushed him beyond the edge, even though he hadn't touched himself in ages. His seed spilled over both their stomachs as his mind was awash with pleasure, in the throes of the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life.

The woodcutter lay inside his lover for a few sweet moments before he drew himself out, smiling when his seed dripped out of the scholar as he did so. He pulled his love into his arms and whispered, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Oh, Ereinion," sighed his lover, kissing him softly on the cheek. "That was fantastic. We should do this more often. I liked being here. I liked pretending..."

Gil-galad knew. He wished as much as Elrond did that they really were just a woodcutter and a scholar, free to live their lives in peace. But it was so much more complicated than that.

"Aren't you glad I didn't tell you I was going to 'split you with my axe'?" replied Gil-galad, running large hands through his love's pitch dark hair. "Or that I was going to 'strip you like a young sapling'?"

"Things would have ended very differently," said Elrond sleepily, wiping the both of them with one of the furs before yawning and dozing off.

Elrond always fell asleep first. Gil-galad didn't mind; he liked to lay awake and hold his lover, alive and warm, in his arms and know that, at that moment, they had each other.


End file.
